For months, we had arranged to date infrequently due to his work commitments. Sometimes work dropped his mood from the top of the world to the heights of Burj Khalifa. However, despite life issues, he was never low enough to drown like most people in the daily worries.
Today was not a date I decided, it was more of a gathering. This kind of locution made me feel better about dating other people*. He was talking to his friends and I was unusually not mingling. I was looking at him and I was scared. I was scared on many fronts: I liked him a lot and dating back-to-back was getting risky.
Despite the size of London, dating in my circles always confined me to a 10 miles radius, so the unlikely was only a matter of time in my case. To make matters worse, I have a ridiculous impulse to constantly stick my neck out. For example, I took great joy at watching the politically obsessed lunch date (Mr Norway) walk me to the dinner date (Mr Australia). Despite my craving for this kind of ecstasy, I am not made for it. I am behaving like a trashy middle class kid that probably would be found washed up on the shores of Ibiza after wreckless experimenting if I continued as such.
As if multiple dating wasn’t stressful enough, I was adding further complication to it: I really liked Australia. There is a sense of vulnerability to actually liking someone. You put yourself out there and you will get hurt. There is no if but or maybe about it, you will definitely get hurt. Everyone will hurt you to some degree: it may be a splinter (a forgotten birthday) or broken spine (an unholy lie) but one thing is for sure, you will get hurt in some way. I was not ready to get hurt so I was ready to self-sabotaging the good thing we had.
As I got my bowels ready to take a dump over one of the likely many chances of happiness I am expecting to get, he developed a case of diarrhoea. He shat all over everything much quickly and vigorously than I had wanted to with ‘I am moving to NY for 6 months for a secondment… you could come to visit and I’ll be back and…..’ I was relieved and disappointed. THE END.
*Dear Loveboat, thanks for message asking about the state of my vagina after ‘dating so many men’. You will be pleased to know none of them get even close it, so no it is not like a bucket. Yours faithfully a happy vagina